


golden dawn

by malevon



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, also SPOILERS like in the first sentence, everyone write it, i need so much content of this post-game reunion, i take canon and make it work for me, if u real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-23 19:18:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevon/pseuds/malevon
Summary: claude can't get back to the monastery fast enough.





	golden dawn

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR GD ROUTE AND CLAUDE S-SUPPORT!!!!

He can’t get back to the monastery fast enough.

As soon as his coronation ceremony in Almyra is wrapped up (which takes a few days, curse those nobles and their incessant talking and their insistence on propriety), he mounts his wyvern and, with an array of calvary behind him, races back to Fodlan where Byleth is waiting for him. Where _his wife_ is waiting for him.

_Hopefully_.

He quashes the thought. It’s been a little under a year since he last saw her, leaving her to settle in to her new role as Archbishop while he went to claim what’s his. They promised each other they would wait for one another, and Claude isn’t doubting her loyalty; he’s doubting her safety.

Garreg Mach, as they both well know it, is in the center of Fodlan, a fact he used to his advantage while running the campaign against the Empire, and the fact that it is equidistant from all sides of Fodlan is a blessing and a curse. In the wake of the bloody war that had just been finished a scant handful of months back, who knows what kinds of Agarthan or Imperial stragglers would dare threaten the new reign?

To his horror, as the monastery slowly appears over the horizon, his fears realize themselves.

In the distance, he can see the blurred shapes of soldiers charging in, flying a red banner.

_Too late._

He urges Rashka faster, and she chuffs in response, beating her wings and pushing them far ahead of his escort. Claude ignores the surprised shouts of the nobles beneath him - some of the voices, he recognizes as Alliance members, his classmates, and his heart pangs to let them discover the monastery themselves, but there’s no way he can afford to wait for them. He has to get there. He has to get to her.

As he nears the marketplace, Claude draws Failnaught from his back and an arrow from the quiver on his saddle and readies to fire. Rashka flies low on his signal, and he shoots, his arrow wedging itself into a stall post - right between two Imperial heads. The soldiers look up and gasp. He watches them from the air, watches them rush into the monastery to send a message. _The king has returned_.

\------

How many more of them could there possibly be?

You’d killed so many, all those months ago. Killed so many by _your_ hand. How could there be this many? How could there be enough to storm Garreg Mach, enough to distract the rest of the residents here and make their way to your quarters?

There’s four of them, and only one of you. The Sword of the Creator was back in the Holy Tomb, a move you thought of and Seteth supported. That type of power had no place in a unified world. But goddess, it sure did have a place in your hand right now.

You brandish the simple iron sword kept in your room with skill, fighting off the slight advances that the soldiers made, but with each push, they drove you back further. The balcony is behind you. They strike. You parry. Your skill with a blade had always outmatched that with any other weapon, and you manage to cut one of the Imperial soldiers down. The other three of them push harder, swiping at you, scoring nicks in your robes punctuated by the feeling of blood trickling down your body. This cannot last.

You thrust your sword forward again, catching one of the remaining three in the shoulder, but with your arm outstretched, a second slashes, and you feel a feverish warmth in your bicep, and then _pain_ -

You drop your sword.

Several things happen in quick succession then.

First, you are threatened with a blade to your throat, and pushed backwards the remaining few feet before you hit the balcony railing with such force that your vision blurs, if only for a moment. You feel that same roaring hot pain in your own shoulder, but not before you see three arrows lodge themselves in the chests of the soldiers, and as they fall backwards to the floor, the dagger is ripped from your chest, and you fall.

You’ve fallen before, five years ago. You screamed then. This time, however, you are silent.

You’ve fallen before, five years ago. You landed in a pit, a river, somewhere where no one found you despite their searches. This time, however, you would land as a splatter in front of the academy.

You’ve fallen before. But it never gets easier.

You land.

\------

Claude paces.

The rest of the small rebellion has been expunged, and all that was left was to tend to the wounded.

He was too late.

“Hey,” Lysithea pricks at him, plucking him from his thoughts. She sat outside the infirmary, taking a break from using her healing magic and letting Marianne take the forefront for a bit while she recovered. “You made it just in time, you know? Get out of your head.”

“I didn’t make it in time.”

“Tell yourself that all you want, Claude, but I’ll tell you what I’ve been telling you this whole time. She’s fine. You know what would have been worse?” she prompts, and no, he doesn’t want to know. Lysithea continues anyway. “If you had been just a couple seconds later and, Seiros forbid, you missed her.”

Claude shivers at the thought. He paces.

“And for the goddess’ sake, stop that pacing! A concussion and a minor stab wound, that’s it! She’s been through worse.”

“She shouldn’t have had to be,” he mutters, and he can hear Lysithea sigh. She stands, and Claude turns to face her, and she suddenly charges forward and hugs him.

Part of him wants to remain sincere. The other part of him wins.

“Hey, kid, what’re you up to?” he asks her, assuming his typical teasing inflection. Lysithea immediately tenses and draws back, her face red. “Missed me, or something?”

“Yeah, maybe I did!” she spits, and Claude smiles, but it’s short lived. The reality of the current state of affairs hits him again, and he chews on his lip. Above it all, though, he’s glad to be back, and in the company of his favorite people again. His favorite person.

“Your Majesty?” comes a small voice from before the two of them, and Marianne is poking her head out from behind the infirmary door. “She’s awake. She’s alright.”

Claude is walking towards the door before she finishes, but he makes a point to stop and whisper something to Marianne about how she knows that she doesn’t have to use titles with him, never in a million years. She giggles, and it’s a lovely, lovely little sound. He missed his Deer, and he missed his Teach.

He gingerly shuts the door behind him, and when looks up, Byleth is looking at him with those wide green eyes, eyes that are currently betraying more emotion that he has ever seen in them before. He chokes back a laugh, which is not quite wholly a laugh, and rushes to her side.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice cracks. He instantly curses himself for his lack of eloquence. She laughs. He loves that sound. He doesn’t hear it enough.

“Hey,” she mirrors, and when Claude reaches to take her hand, she willfully offers it. The ring he gave her is still on her finger, and part of him melts with relief when he realizes it. _She waited_.

He must not be great at hiding his emotions, because Byleth puts her other hand on top of his, straining a bit to reach on account of the bandages wrapped around her shoulder and chest, but she smiles, that small, soft smile that his heart still skips a beat at. “You didn’t think I’d given up on you, did you?” she whispers, and it’s the same words that he had said to her when she came back after the most grueling five years of his life.

“Not in a million years,” he reassures her, and presses a chaste kiss to her ring finger. “Just don’t go and fall off of any more buildings for me, okay, By?” She hums, deep in her chest, and nods silently.

Claude has never enjoyed silence. It left too many doors open, too many opportunities for people to scrutinize and make judgments about someone without knowing the full story. Silence was and always has been his enemy - his silver tongue was his prized possession, and he utilized it well. But sitting with Byleth? With his wife that he hadn’t seen in far too long? Nothing needed to be said. He silently, gingerly climbs into the small cot with her, drinking in her presence. For the first time in seven years, he gets what he’s so dearly wanted: a chance to be close to her. The days he spent at the academy were filled with tense gestures, a search for chances to brush his hands with hers, and then she vanished and then there was the war and now - It’s just quiet.

It’s quiet when he feels her fall asleep next to him, her light breathing the one thing anchoring him in the present. It’s quiet when he falls asleep himself, leaning his head on hers, and it’s quiet when he wakes up hours later, the light of the golden dawn pouring in through the infirmary windows. He squeezes his arm around her, careful not to wake her up or jostle her wounds, but the grip is desperate, nonetheless. _I’m not letting you go again, you sly little goddess_.

**Author's Note:**

> this writing style is kinda new for me but it's heavily based on tacticionfiction's work, whose blog i really love! i really just needed some good byclaude reunion content.


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